A Son's Journey
by icyfire
Summary: "Why had he cared about one man's opinion so much?" Jack yearns for his father's approval.
1. Default Chapter

Title: A Son's Journey  
  
Author: icyfire  
  
Summary: "Why had he cared about one man's opinion so much?" Jack yearns for his father's approval.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never have been, and I lose money on Alias, not make it. Bad Robot and the Mouse own Alias.  
  
The song lyrics are also not mine. I can't write song lyrics. Lowen & Navarro are singers and, I believe, the songwriters of "Until the Well Runs Dry." I think it's usually customary to name a songfic after the song used, but I guess I'm a rebel at heart. ;)  
  
Rating PG-13 for language  
  
Spoilers: Up to "Salvation" (2X06). The story is set after that episode.  
  
A/N: This is Miss Celli's extremely late and extremely early birthday present. It was originally supposed to have just been last year's birthday fic, but since it's songfic--something I've never ever written--and I pulled out all my hair writing this--Celli has graciously accepted it as a dual birthday gift.  
  
Big huge "Thank you!" to Karen T. for the beta. She helped make this a better story. All mistakes, however, are still mine.  
  
Ship: There is some Jack/Laura here.  
  
***  
  
Call for the preacher  
  
Cause I think I'm going to stumble  
  
***  
  
"Call when your plane lands."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Jack answered. He made sure his voice was steady, crisp. He knew his father expected no less of him; his son was to act like any man under his authority.  
  
"This is a great opportunity for you to serve our country," Colonel Thomas Bristow told him.  
  
"Yes, Sir," he answered again, knowing that his father didn't want to hear any other answer. Jack discreetly examined the families surrounding them, and he wished that he and his father could be like the man and son standing over by the boarding ramp. It would be great to hear his dad tell him that he would miss him, to hear him say "be careful." Or maybe to hear that Colonel Bristow loved him and was proud of him.  
  
"I expect you to be the best that you can be, Son. Failure is not an option."  
  
He'd heard the same words dozens of times before, but they'd always been said to new recruits put under his father's command. He nodded, hoping that the look of fear that he'd seen on so many faces was not showing on his own. The old man never allowed fear to show, and he had no respect for those who did.  
  
Swallowing, Jack pushed down the doubts he'd been feeling since Bob Carlin had first approached him four months before. Jack had been debating what he'd wanted to do with his life--questioning if he could be a career military officer like his father was and expected him to be--when the CIA had let him know they were interested.  
  
After a few minutes of awe and excitement--and a few daydreams of being James Bond with cool gadgets and hot women--Jack's analytical brain had started to reason through the job requirements: lying, killing, whatever was needed to get the job done. He had doubted he could do it.  
  
Besides, he hadn't thought he was as impressive as the CIA recruiter had tried to claim he was. Sure he'd scored well on some standardized tests; that didn't mean he would make a good agent. He had reasoned that if they actually took the time to study him, to see what he could do, the people at the CIA would quickly realize their mistake in picking him.  
  
He had decided to decline the offer.  
  
But then he had come home to find his father waiting for him. And saw the look of pride on the Colonel's face. The CIA, because of his age and his father's clearance, had already discussed the job offer with him. Jack had spent a life time working to earn his father's respect; his father's proud eyes had made the decision for him.  
  
He was going to work for the CIA.  
  
"I won't fail, Sir," Jack said, hoping that he wasn't lying. The father and son next to the boarding ramp hugged, and Jack wished he had the courage to try to hug the man standing at attention in front of him.  
  
Thomas Bristow held out his hand. "See that you don't." It was an order. Resisting the urge to salute, Jack nodded and shook his father's hand. He reached down, grabbed his carry-on bag, and turned to get in line to board the plane.  
  
As he handed the stewardess his boarding pass, he glanced at the sad father watching his son leaving. He saw tears in the man's eyes. He shifted his gaze to his own father and saw the same cool face that had been there a moment before.  
  
Walking the long ramp to the plane, Jack heard "Failure is not an option" ringing in his ears. Please, Lord, he thought with every step. Don't let me fail.  
  
***  
  
I'll try not to mumble  
  
So he can hear my prayer  
  
***  
  
"Speak up, Mr. Bristow," Lloyd Harrison snapped. "I can't hear you."  
  
Jack struggled to speak past the lump in his throat. He was the quietest of the group he was training with, and he was the youngest, too. Even worse, everyone else seemed so self-assured and seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Unlike him.  
  
"I think the agents were wrong," he said, his voice a little clearer than before, but still not as strong as it should be.  
  
He felt every eye focus on him. Usually this class studied missions--what had been done right during previous CIA assignments. Or at least that's what the discussion was always about. No one seemed to want to talk about what had gone wrong. It was almost as if it was traitorous to even consider the possibility that the CIA had made a mistake.  
  
Of course Jack saw the mistakes. They glared at him.  
  
He never spoke up in class, expecting the others to point them out, always left wondering if he was seeing something that wasn't there when no one did.  
  
But he couldn't stay quiet today. Not about this mission. It had been a mistake from the onset, and listening to Lisa McGuire--the most brilliant student in the class--bragging on every aspect of it had left him with a sour stomach.  
  
"You think the agents were wrong, Mr. Bristow?" Harrison said with a hint of mockery in his voice. He leaned back on his desk and crossed his arms and ankles. "And what do you--someone who has never been in the field-- think they should have done?"  
  
Jack almost backed down, almost said he was wrong, but then he looked up at the three faces projected on the wall. They were photos of three people whose families were left to mourn their absence. Those three agents, who had died because their team leader had made a terrible mistake, wouldn't let him remain quiet.  
  
He crossed his fingers and tried to find the courage to speak. Thinking about his father, he made himself look his instructor in the eyes. He wouldn't show his fear. "I think the team leader lost focus of the bigger goal. China is our enemy, and they did have a piece of intel that we needed. However, the Soviet Union is our common enemy. The better way to get the intel we needed was to arrange an exchange. We should've formed a strategic alliance."  
  
"A strategic alliance? An exchange? Am I to understand, Mr. Bristow," Harrison said with the same mocking lilt he'd used before, "that you think we should have contacted the Chinese Central Investigation Department with an offer to share our intel in exchange for theirs?"  
  
Jack looked down at his hands and thought about his father. Thought about the disappointment that would be on his face if the CIA sent him back home with a "Thank you, but Jack Bristow does not fit our requirements" letter. The CIA promoted following the line, not asking questions, but here Jack was--an unimportant recruit--saying that the agency was wrong. He looked back up at the accusing eyes in the projection on the wall and returned his attention to Harrison. "Yes, Sir," he said.  
  
Jack heard the other students shifting around in their chairs. Harrison was now walking towards him. "And what would keep them from giving us fake information?"  
  
"Fear," he answered, feeling a trickle of sweat course its way down the side of his face. "The border dispute between them and the Soviet Union is a growing concern of theirs. In this instance, China would have realized that we had a better chance to stop the Soviets than they did. Working with us would have been to their advantage."  
  
Harrison looked down at his watch and then back at Jack. "You are absolutely correct, Mr. Bristow. This mission was a disaster for this agency. An unnecessary disaster. The team leader arrogantly presumed that he needed to prove he was smarter than his Chinese counterparts. Instead he proved how dangerous and reckless he was with those who trusted him with their lives. In fact, the intel gathered that day was incomplete, and we ended up forming an alliance with China's CID, which ended with us achieving the 'bigger goal,' as Mr. Bristow called it. Class dismissed."  
  
Jack inhaled a gulp of air; he wasn't going to be sent home to explain to Thomas Bristow why the CIA no longer considered him a viable agent candidate. Besides being upset that Jack had failed, his father wouldn't have approved of him questioning authority.  
  
"Mr. Bristow, please stay for a few minutes."  
  
At least he didn't think he was about to be sent home. Harrison's voice had been firm, but he didn't look upset; he looked almost pleased.  
  
Jack glanced at his watch as he walked towards the large cherry desk in the front of the room. His instructor noticed. "In a hurry, Mr. Bristow?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir, but I have a Chemistry exam in an hour." He wanted to wince at how weak his voice sounded, but he struggled to appear calm.  
  
"A chemistry exam?" Harrison shook his head as he walked behind his desk. Sitting down, he sighed, "Damn, but you are young."  
  
Tossing his pen onto the desk, he leaned back in his chair. "I admit that I wasn't thrilled when the agency informed me that there would be a seventeen year-old boy in my class, Mr. Bristow. I read your test results, read the field reports--"  
  
"Field reports?"  
  
Harrison grinned at him. "We usually get people after college, Mr. Bristow, and then only those who apply to work for us. You attracted the agency's eye, so they sent agents to study you."  
  
Jack shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that someone was studying him when he had been oblivious. He was also uncomfortable with the fact the CIA was so interested in him that they had sent agents, spent resources, to study him.  
  
He felt Harrison studying him now. "I was also unhappy to hear that you planned to study for you college degree while in training. I thought it was an unnecessary burden, especially on one so young."  
  
He could only nod, unable to explain that his degree was his failsafe. It gave him something to fall back on if he failed. When he failed.  
  
Harrison shook his head. "I thought I would have to make allowances for your age, which goes against the grain where I'm concerned. I don't believe in allowances. I think they get agents killed."  
  
Jack was unsure what his teacher was wanting him to say. "Agreed, Sir."  
  
His teacher leaned forward with a grace which belied his age. "Then stop making me make allowances for you, Jack. Stop hiding your intelligence. Stop acting like the last man picked for the team. You're fucking brilliant. I'm not even finished going over mission specs when I see from your face that the entire op has re-organized itself in your brain. It also tells me that you've seen every mistake made in every mission we've discussed. Haven't you?"  
  
Jack was sure he hadn't seen every mistake, but he doubted Harrison would appreciate him debating semantics at the moment. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"I know you have. Just like I know that you are standing there telling yourself that you didn't see every mistake." Harrison shook his head when Jack didn't say anything. "Jack, I don't give a damn about your age anymore; you're the most brilliant student I've ever taught, and I'm going to start treating you that way. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
Harrison stood and walked up to him. "Listen to me carefully, Jack. I'm going to stop making any allowances for your age and for your lack of self- confidence. Because I'm afraid if I keep doing it, I'm going to be the reason you get killed one of these days. And the CIA can't afford to lose a viable asset like you."  
  
He walked around Jack and stood right next to him. "So, Mr. Bristow, you'd better start sharing your thoughts in class, or I'm going to make your life a living hell. Do we understand one another?"  
  
Jack nodded, feeling as if he was home. His father always used the same means of intimidation; getting in someone's personal space was an effective technique. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"Good. Dismissed," Harrison said, turning his attention to something on his desk.  
  
Jack walked out of the room thinking he should feel better after hearing his teacher's praise, but somehow he was feeling worse. The pressure of expectations weighed heavier on his shoulders. He'd lived with them all his life, but he'd never met up to his father's. Not even now. Failure was not an option, but it seemed to be the only end result he knew. Please don't let me fail.  
  
***  
  
End 1/5 


	2. Part 2

***  
  
I look for salvation  
  
But I can't see out my window  
  
***  
  
Snow covered everything. Even the window seals were full of snow and ice. Jack knew there were some Christmas lights out there, but he couldn't see them for the white wonderland. The door behind him opened, and he shivered as the frigid air danced across his skin. Taking a deep breath, he turned and faced his father.  
  
Colonel Bristow didn't look so serious covered in snow. Jack doubted anybody would, but his father still had the same proud bearing, the same precise movements as he removed his parka and hung it in the closet.  
  
He walked into the room, and Jack stood there waiting for some acknowledgement. "Jack," his father said. He sounded like a man seeing someone he knew from high school. Not a friend from the past, an acquaintance.  
  
"Father," Jack said, feeling the sweat covering his palms. He didn't close his fists though. He made sure he stood straight and didn't fidget. He wanted his father to see the changes in him.  
  
It had been six months since he'd left home. He was different on the inside. More confident. He wasn't sure his father could see that, but he should see the physical changes. In another three months, Jack would be a man. Eighteen years old. And six months of physical training had changed his frame. It was more muscular, leaner; muscles ripped where skin and bones had been before.  
  
Colonel Bristow picked up the newspaper from the kitchen counter. The housekeeper--whoever she was now--knew exactly how to place it, just the way the Colonel liked it. In that moment, Jack experienced déjà vu; it was as if he'd never left.  
  
"How was your flight?" his father asked as he sat down in his chair.  
  
Jack ignored the pain that sliced through him. "It was good."  
  
***  
  
I think I'll hide and disappear  
  
***  
  
"Would you tell the Colonel that I won't be able to make it home, Mrs. Thacker?"  
  
He hadn't been home since last Christmas, but life had been busy. Between school and training, he'd been unable to even find a long weekend to make the trip out west. And while there was nothing pressing at the moment, he knew the Colonel would understand his reluctance to interrupt his education for a break back home.  
  
Ignoring the voice that was pointing out he could've at least called his father's office and told him personally, he waited for the housekeeper to reply. She hesitated a moment before asking, "You're not going to make it home for Christmas?"  
  
He'd met Mrs. Thacker during his last visit. She was different from most of the other housekeepers the Colonel had employed over the years. She was a happy person; she actually smiled. She had a family she loved and who loved her. He bet she couldn't think of anything more horrible than someone not making it home for Christmas. Thinking about what they'd been talking about just an hour ago in training, he realized he wanted her to keep believing that was the worst thing on earth.  
  
"No," Jack answered, bothered more by the hint of censor in her voice than he wanted to admit. He already had an excuse ready to go--My father's a busy man and shouldn't be disturbed for such an unimportant matter--if she asked why he'd called the Colonel's house instead of his office.  
  
"I'll try to make it home next month," he said, wondering if he was lying. He'd told himself that he would go, but would he really? With the question weighing heavy on his mind, he said, "I've got to go, Mrs. Thacker. Bye!" He hung up without waiting for her response.  
  
He stared down at the phone for several minutes, as if waiting for it to give him a reply or an answer. Shaking his head, Jack walked back into his room. He had a test tomorrow that he needed to study for. Failure, after all, wasn't an option.  
  
***  
  
And I had a teacher  
  
And he led me through the jungle  
  
***  
  
The first thing Jack noticed was the smell; the location of the vile stench was obvious. The steady stream of smoke up on the hill was filling the air with the scent. Jack felt the bile rise in his throat but he managed not to embarrass himself. The two men escorting him to camp looked disappointed.  
  
Following them off the helicopter, he made sure to stay down as the blades whirled overhead. The men in front of him moved less cautiously and easily outpaced him. He watched as they stopped in front of a man--wearing the same type of jumpsuit as Jack--and pointed towards him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the look on the man's face was easy to recognize.  
  
Disgust. He barely managed to hide it, and Jack was sure that he wasn't really trying. He stopped walking and waited for the man--obviously the head of the CIA team--to walk towards him. The men who had escorted him from Saigon continued on towards the bunks.  
  
The CIA team leader stopped in front of him, and it was then that Jack realized how short the man was. The man's personality made him seem much taller than he was. Jack could see the passion in the man's eyes, the barely contained power. The lack of rank insignia didn't hamper this man's air of authority. Jack could learn a lot from him, if the man allowed him to stay around.  
  
"Jack Bristow, Sir," he introduced himself.  
  
"I know who you are, Mr. Bristow. What I don't know is why they keep sending me greener and greener recruits."  
  
His boss started walking, obviously expecting Jack to follow. He did, amazed at how fast the man could move. "We're not the military, Mr. Bristow, but you need to familiarize yourself with their rules."  
  
"I was raised in the army, Sir. My father's a colonel," he explained.  
  
"Then you are already months ahead of the agent you're replacing." They stopped in front of a tent. "This is where you'll be staying. At least for the next several days."  
  
"Next several days? Sir, the window of opportunity is closing."  
  
The man stopped walking and turned back to look at Jack. "Window of opportunity? What exactly do you know about this mission, Mr. Bristow?"  
  
"Everything," Jack replied truthfully.  
  
"Everything? Why were you debriefed before you arrived?" The man's eyes were focused on Jack again, studying him.  
  
"They didn't debrief me, Sir. They didn't need to; I'm the one who wrote the mission specs."  
  
His new boss thought for a moment. "Then why are you here instead of at a desk back in DC?"  
  
"Because I asked to be sent. I thought the information given me was incomplete and that I needed to be here in order to give the team my best," Jack replied.  
  
Respect replaced derision. "You asked to be sent to hell?"  
  
"I needed to be here."  
  
"You're an analyst?"  
  
Jack nodded even as he answered, "I am what the CIA and our country needs me to be."  
  
The man smiled at him. "You have been field trained?"  
  
"Of course, Sir. If I wasn't, I'd be a burden to this team."  
  
All signs of annoyance disappeared from the man's body language. He held out his hand and Jack shook it. "I'm Arvin Sloane. Let me be the first to welcome you to hell, Jack."  
  
"Thank you, Sir."  
  
Sloane laughed. "You definitely are an army brat."  
  
Jack smiled. "Yes." He barely managed to stop himself from adding the "sir."  
  
Sloane grew serious. "This assignment is not a walk in the park, Jack. It's dangerous and probably nothing like anything you've ever done before."  
  
"I know, but I'm ready to do my job, whatever that takes."  
  
"Then I guess I need to teach you what you'll need to know here. You've got ten minutes to get rid of your gear. Meet me in that tent when you've finished."  
  
Jack nodded. "I won't let the team down, Sir," he called to the retreating back of Arvin Sloane.  
  
Sloane looked at him with that intense stare of his. "I know you won't, Jack. I won't let you."  
  
***  
  
But where was he when I crumbled  
  
  
  
  
  
Into pieces of clay  
  
  
  
***  
  
Jack felt the brandy burn all the way down. It took some of the chill away from him. His stomach protested, but he ignored it. He didn't often indulge, but today would be a good day to get drunk. He could drink himself into oblivion. He'd already bought a bottle at the liquor store across the street. It was waiting for him in the car, but he'd seen this little dive and decided that he'd really didn't want to get started all alone.  
  
"Hello," a warm voice said next to him as he almost finished his first glass.  
  
He turned and saw a vision of beauty sitting next to him, looking so out of place in this dump. She smiled, and he felt his groin tighten. Nice to know he was still alive and functioning, even when he was moving around in shock.  
  
And his brain was still able to determine that this was not the usual type of woman that he attracted. The women who were interested in him were shy, brainy types whose social skills lacked something. Like him. The guys usually teased him about his reaction around the gentler sex. "Give the guy a bomb with ten seconds until detonation, and he's got ice water in his veins. Leave him alone with a fox for ten seconds, and he's sweating buckets."  
  
He was too numb to be sweating buckets right now.  
  
"You look like you've lost your best friend," those lush lips said.  
  
Trying to make himself smile, Jack answered, "Just unable to get in touch with him."  
  
Phone call after phone call had failed to produce the desired result. Arvin Sloane was underground, and he didn't want to be found. Jack wished Arvin could have showed a little better sense of timing, although how anyone could've planned for today was beyond Jack's comprehension. He never expected....  
  
"Mmmm," she sighed as she leaned forward on the bar. His groin jumped, but Jack tried to ignore it. He didn't need any more complications in his life, and he knew there was no sense in getting his hopes up that she would be interested for long. Experience had proven that women like her didn't find him interesting.  
  
Besides, tonight was not the right time to even try to develop a relationship. He was too tense, too numb, too everything.  
  
The bartender was walking towards them, so she said, "Why don't you buy me a drink? I can be your best friend tonight."  
  
Jack wished she would just leave him alone. However, he couldn't refuse her. "I'll have another brandy, and give the lady whatever she wants."  
  
"Brandy sounds wonderful," she said. Her voice played up his spine. It was a pleasing voice. Not grating. Soothing.  
  
When the bartender turned away to fix their order, she returned her attention to him. Her eyes were incredible, too. A wonderful chocolate color. Usually he would be grateful that someone like her was even talking to him, but not tonight.  
  
He opened his mouth to say something to her--he wasn't really sure what-- when she spoke instead. "Well, my new best friend, what are we going to do tonight?"  
  
The amusement in her voice made him smile. Then remembering the phone call, he lost that smile. "I'm planning on getting really drunk," he told her a little harsher than he'd intended. He watched her smile fade, and he wanted to kick himself. "I don't expect you--"  
  
The bartender set down their drinks. He reached to pick up Jack's empty glass as the dark-haired beauty next to him reached for hers. Her empty glass was on the bar before the bartender could leave. "Two more," she said. "And make them doubles this time."  
  
Jack looked at her, unable to hide his surprise. "I'm not good company tonight."  
  
"I can tell," she answered. "However, it goes against my beliefs for anyone to be drinking all alone after a bad day. Misery is best shared among friends."  
  
"It wasn't a bad day. It was a good day," Jack mumbled as he returned his attention to the glass in front of him. He took a sip. "I received a promotion for the project I developed last year. My employer finally green- lighted it."  
  
It had felt good, reading the commendation from Langley. Praise always made him feel wonderful. But he didn't feel proud right now. He felt numb inside.  
  
"You had a great day, and you still wanted to get drunk with your best friend?" He felt her eyes study him, take in the slumped shoulders and grim face. "And it doesn't look like celebratory drinking was on your mind."  
  
Jack stared down at his watch. Had it only been less than two hours ago that he'd received that phone call? He'd thought it was a practical joke at first, unable to comprehend what the caller was trying to tell him, but he'd finally had to accept the truth.  
  
"My father's dead."  
  
She couldn't hide her surprise, although she tried. She was silent for a long time, probably wondering how to gracefully leave him alone. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be," Jack said before taking a gulp of brandy. "I hardly knew the man. I couldn't tell you the last time we spoke on the phone, let alone the last time I saw him."  
  
Laying her hand on top of his, she said, "I am sorry. You've lost dreams along with losing your father."  
  
Jack stared at her, surprised by her insight. Colonel Thomas Bristow would never tell Jack that he was proud of him now. No chance of fatherly pride finally making an appearance. No chance of hearing the words "I love you" from him either. Thomas Bristow died today, and several of Jack's dreams died with him.  
  
They both were silent as they finished their drinks. He expected her to finish hers quickly and leave him alone in his grief, but she remained by him, matching him almost swig for swig. As he finished the double that she'd ordered, she rested on her elbows and said, "My apartment's close. Why don't we get a bottle of something and go to my place to get drunk in comfort?"  
  
Jack was unsure what to say. He started to refuse but found himself saying, "Okay. I already have a bottle of Absolute in my car." He really didn't want to be alone right now, even if he was bad company. She didn't seem to mind.  
  
He waved for the bartender who provided their bill. Jack stood up and reached for his wallet. Throwing a couple of bills down on the bar, he thought about Arvin. Wondered where he was, what he was doing, wondered how shocked he would be at Jack going home with a beautiful woman with the intent of just getting drunk.  
  
"I don't even know you name," he realized as the night air hit him. "You don't know mine." He looked down at her. "I'm Jack Bristow."  
  
She took her hand off of his arm and turned to face him. She held out her hand. "Hello, Jack, I'm Laura Richards."  
  
Her grip was confident, sure. Jack admired her self-assurance even as he enjoyed the feel of her skin on his. "Thank you, Laura, for being here."  
  
She glanced away and then back at him. "No need to thank me, Jack. That's what best friends are for."  
  
***  
  
End 2/5 


	3. Part 3

***  
  
When I tried to put my best face on  
  
  
  
You know the damn thing always fit me wrong  
  
***  
  
The guests laughed as the kiss went on longer than it should. Most of the people there knew how unlike the groom it was, so they laughed a little harder and felt a little more pleasure at the sight of Jack Bristow kissing his bride with enthusiasm.  
  
"Thank you, Laura, for being here," he whispered in her ear.  
  
He heard the laughter in her voice as she said, "No need to thank me, Jack. That's what brides are for."  
  
They were still laughing two hours later when Sloane approached them at the main table. "There's the best man," Laura said as he stopped by her.  
  
He gave her his charming grin. "I agree, but you married Jack anyway."  
  
Jack laughed. "Thank you so much, Arvin, for everything you've done today."  
  
Sloane lost his smile. "I'm sorry, Jack--"  
  
Jack shook his head. "No--"  
  
"Andrews sent a messenger."  
  
"I leave for my honeymoon in three hours, Arvin."  
  
"That's a half-hour after you leave for China."  
  
Laura held up her hand before he could answer. "Jack, we'll have our honeymoon when you get back. Maybe you can talk Andrews into letting us do some kind of working honeymoon, and we can go explore Europe or something."  
  
Jack reached out and grasped her hand. "Laura, you deserve a honeymoon."  
  
"I want a husband who doesn't feel guilty for putting what he wanted first," she answered. "I know you, Jack. They must really need you or they wouldn't be asking for you, and you know it, too. I'm proud of your work. I'm willing to be second--occasionally."  
  
Putting his hands beside her face, he kissed her. "You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, Laura. The best."  
  
"Remember that," she whispered, "when some beautiful Chinese lady tries to seduce you."  
  
She turned her attention to Sloane who had been standing back, allowing them some privacy. "You take good care of him."  
  
"He always does," Jack said.  
  
"And don't lead him down any wrong paths."  
  
Sloane grinned. "Mr. Boy Scout? There's no way I could, Laura. I've been trying for years."  
  
"Actually, rumor has it there's a lady over at the State Department who's attracted his attention," Jack informed his wife. "They're saying he's walking away from trouble these days."  
  
Laura looked over at Sloane. "Oh?" His friend just looked at her, not revealing anything by word or action. She smiled and turned her attention back to her husband. Grasping his hand, she stood. "You're already packed, and your bags are out in Arvin's car, so we don't have to worry about that, and the flight to China should be long enough to debrief you and let you get some rest. So, Arvin, you'll have to excuse us for a little while."  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked, looking down at his watch. "Andrew's sending a car in a little over an hour."  
  
"I rented a room upstairs to get ready in today," she explained. "Jack and I are going to use it so we can change our clothes." It was obvious that she wasn't really thinking about their outfits. "See you in a little over an hour," she called as she led Jack out of the hotel's ballroom. Sloane's laughter followed them.  
  
Jack pressed the button for the elevator and turned to look at his bride. She was beautiful, and the love shining from her eyes made him feel wonderful and scared at the same time. He'd never had anyone give him such unconditional love in his life. She'd given him what he'd always yearned for. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't apologize, Jack."  
  
"Yes," he said as the elevator dinged. They walked onto it, and Jack was relieved to see that they were alone. "I need to apologize. I want to be the perfect husband for you, Laura, and leaving you before we even get to celebrate our wedding together is not a good start."  
  
She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Jack, you aren't the stay-at-home type. Don't try to convince yourself that you are."  
  
"I could be."  
  
He felt the muscles in her back tense beneath his fingers. "You mean leave the CIA?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
She pulled away from him and shook her head. "Jack, you are what you are. Don't try to be anything else. I love you. Just the way you are."  
  
"So, I can still leave the toilet lid up?" he teased.  
  
She kissed him. "Okay, so maybe a few changes are in order, but nothing major. I love you, Jack Bristow," she whispered against his lips. The elevator doors opened, and she put her hand in his. "Now, let's go celebrate this wedding before they take you away from me."  
  
***  
  
Too bad  
  
You got nothing  
  
***  
  
"I'm the luckiest man alive, Laura. I have everything," he whispered.  
  
She leaned down and kissed him. Their daughter opened her eyes and frowned at them for the interruption of the rocking action that had been putting her to sleep. "Sorry, Sydney," Jack whispered as he set the rocking chair back in motion.  
  
Laura smiled and waved as she walked out of the room, turning off the little lamp by the door as she passed. Moonlight streamed into the room from the tiny window, and Jack enjoyed the feeling of contentment that was resting over him.  
  
"I'm not going to let you down," he told his daughter. "I'm not going to be like my old man and die all alone and with nothing to show for my life except a great work record. No, you, your mom, and I are a team. And we're going to stick together. I'm going to be the best dad ever, Sydney. I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you."  
  
Jack leaned back in the chair and held his daughter close as he thought about his father, a man he never really knew. "You had nothing, Father. Nothing. But I'm not going to be like you," he whispered into the air.  
  
***  
  
Nothing to say  
  
***  
  
Jack stood six feet away from the white tombstone. The flag waved in the wind over the Santa Fe National Cemetery as Jack stared at the marker showing his father's final resting place. He hadn't been here since the Colonel's burial, and he wasn't sure why he was here today.  
  
He stood there, wanting to say something, wanting to talk about how his life had been since the day Thomas Bristow had died. He wanted to talk about Laura, about his Sydney, and how life was just perfect.  
  
But as it had been while his father was alive, he couldn't find the words to communicate. He had nothing to say to the man who'd raised him but had never given him anything he needed or wanted.  
  
***  
  
Cause there is no road to walk upon  
  
And there is no room to fly  
  
***  
  
"She's walking?"  
  
Jack slumped against the doorway as he watched his little girl haltingly step towards her mother. Hearing his voice, Sydney turned her head, losing her balance in the process. She landed on her well-padded bottom with a plopping noise. She still smiled and turned towards him.  
  
Bending down, he dropped his briefcase and picked up his crawling daughter. She giggled, and he hugged her tight. "I love you, Sydney."  
  
Laura walked over and kissed him. He wrapped his free arm around her and hugged her to him. "My two favorite ladies."  
  
"And don't you forget it," Laura whispered.  
  
"I won't," he said, looking at her. He wondered how it was possible to keep falling more in love every day.  
  
"I missed her first steps, Laura."  
  
"You were taking care of business."  
  
He almost shuddered as he thought of that hellhole in Sri Lanka. While his little girl was busy walking, he was busy breaking a guy's leg. It struck him as wrong. "I should quit."  
  
"You wouldn't be happy, Jack. And an unhappy father who's around for everything isn't better than a happy father who misses the occasional event. Besides, you're doing more and more desk work these days. By the time she's ready for you to be checking out her dates, you probably won't be in the field at all. She doesn't know you missed her fist steps."  
  
"I know it, Laura."  
  
She walked around him and picked up one of their daughter's play toys. "And you know she's safer because of the job you're doing."  
  
"That was my father's excuse."  
  
Fire burned in his wife's eyes as she turned and looked at him. "You are not your father."  
  
"I feel like it."  
  
"Jack, you're not a damn thing like him. You may be out there fighting the same enemies, but you make damn sure that when you're with us that you're with us. The first thing you do when you get home is tell our little girl that you love her, and you always tell me how much you miss me."  
  
She looked away from him as she whispered, "You're not locked into your job, Jack. You let yourself be free to love us." She looked back at him. "You're not him."  
  
***  
  
End 3/5 


	4. Part 4

***  
  
But I'll try everything a man has got to try  
  
Until the well runs dry  
  
***  
  
"I think we're done," Jack said as he tossed down the pencil. It was almost midnight, but he and Sloane had finally finished planning the break- in at the Chinese Embassy in Spain. They would get the intel they needed, hopefully without any loses. Jack could still remember looking at the faces projected on the wall years before, and he was determined that they would do all they could to prevent loses during this mission. It was his goal for every op he planned.  
  
Jack yawned as he rubbed his eyes. Sloane looked over at him and picked up a glass of water. After taking a sip, he said, "Tired, Jack? It's still early."  
  
Smiling, he explained, "Sydney had a tummy ache last night; I stayed up with her most of the night." He stood up to stretch before walking over to the window and looking out into the LA night. Sydney had cried as he left that morning, and he'd wanted to stay and hold her like she'd wanted.  
  
"Did you hear about Portman?" Sloane asked.  
  
Jack turned to look at him. "Portman? You mean Billy?"  
  
"Yeah, Billy."  
  
"No, I missed the briefing this morning. What happened?"  
  
Jack expected to hear how he died. Too many of their friends had been killed over the years. Instead he heard, "Burnout. Got four of his own agents killed."  
  
"Damn."  
  
"He gave so damn much he didn't have anymore to give," Sloane said.  
  
Jack was surprised by the bitterness in his friend's voice. "They don't ask for more than we're willing to give."  
  
"Really?" Sloane's grin was not a happy one. "You mean you wanted to leave Sydney this morning after she'd stayed up all night sick?"  
  
Leaning back against the window, he studied his friend. "You know what I mean, Arvin. All fathers make those types of sacrifices, even if they're only going to the Golden Arches to work."  
  
Sloane shook his head. "I'm sorry. Bill Portman was a good man. He deserved better than what they did to him today."  
  
Uncertain exactly what his friend's fate at the CIA had been, but certain that he knew the basics, Jack winced. "They needed to protect other agents- -"  
  
"Jack," was all Sloane said, but Jack lowered his head at the censor there. While he understood the CIA's policy on burnout, he knew exactly what Sloane was upset about. Good agents were often tossed out like yesterday's garbage.  
  
Sloane finished his water and stood. "They keep asking us to give, never noticing when we no longer have anything else to give them. At least not until we make a mistake."  
  
Jack watched his friend walk from their office, and struggled to ignore the whispers of doubts about Sloane's loyalty he was starting to have, had been having since the Burma mission.  
  
***  
  
Until the well runs dry  
  
***  
  
Jack watched as Billy's wife dropped a handful of dirt on her husband's casket. He felt Laura's hand slip into his, and he felt the muscles in his neck start to relax. He was glad that she'd insisted on finding a sitter for Sydney and attending with him. He needed her here. Especially for this funeral.  
  
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Remember how he laughed and laughed with us as we watched that silly, old movie?"  
  
After nodding, Jack leaned his chin on her head. "Yeah," he whispered. It had been the last time Billy had been to their house. Had it really been almost a year ago? Time had flown so fast.  
  
"He always had a great sense of humor," Laura mumbled.  
  
"Yeah," Jack sighed, struggling to remember the laughing man. Struggled to remember Billy telling jokes instead of seeing Billy sitting behind his desk at home, a gaping hole in the back of his head from where he'd decided to swallow a bullet from his own gun.  
  
Burnout. He'd given until he had nothing left to give to anyone. Not even to his wife and kids.  
  
Jack wrapped his arms around Laura and listened as the service ended. He looked across the grave to where Arvin and Emily were talking to the widow. He remembered Arvin's words from last night's impromptu wake, remembered how the hairs on the back of his neck had shivered when Arvin said Billy should have used his talents for his own benefit. Then, later, Emily had unwittingly revealed that Alain Christophe had become a frequent visitor to the Sloane household. Christophe was a fellow agent, on his way to the top by all indications, but Jack didn't trust him, and Arvin used to feel the same way.  
  
"I need to go into the office," he told Laura as they started walking away from the flower-covered grave.  
  
"Jack--"  
  
"It'll just be for a little while. I need to talk to some people," he told her.  
  
"You need to take some time for yourself."  
  
He stopped and looked at her. "I'm taking the rest of the week off." She looked surprised. "I want to spend time with you and Sydney. Forget about the office."  
  
Looking back over her shoulder to where a crying Lisa Portman stood by her husband's grave, Laura nodded. "I understand. But why go in today?"  
  
Because if I don't, I may never find the courage again. Because I'm having to give more than I ever wanted to give to the CIA. Because I don't want to believe that my best friend may be a traitor, and by tomorrow I may have talked myself out of doing what I know has to be done.  
  
"There's some information that I need to give to Andrews," was all he told her.  
  
***  
  
Now I had a lover  
  
And she led me to the slaughter  
  
***  
  
"What the hell is this all about?" Jack yelled, finally fed up with all the questions. He had a grieving daughter at home he needed to be with, and honestly, he would be okay with the CIA and everything connected with it going straight to the devil right now.  
  
Andrews, a man he worked with for years, looked at him with a glare that could freeze a man's soul, but Jack was too tired, too numb, and too angry to care. "I want answers," he said to the men in the room. "You've been questioning me for hours about things I don't give a damn about right now."  
  
"You don't give a damn about dead agents, Agent Bristow?"  
  
Jack ran his hand through his hair. "Of course I do, Sir. But right now, I can't help you. I need to be with my daughter. My wife is dead, and I just haven't got anything to give you tonight."  
  
Agent Mark Watson, a man Jack had called a friend until he'd hauled him out of his own house without an explanation, tossed a book down in front of him. "Do you recognize this?"  
  
Jack reached down and picked up the book. He opened the cover and saw his own writing. "Yes, I do. Since you got it from my house, I don't see why you even need to ask," he said as he tossed it back down on the table. It hurt to see the words of love written to Laura back when he thought life was always going to be perfect. He wanted to cry; he wanted to hold his little girl.  
  
"Where did you get the book, Agent Bristow?" This question came from one of the strangers in the room. Jack wasn't sure what agency the man worked for, but he wasn't CIA. He was certain of that fact. Maybe FBI? But why would the FBI be asking him questions?  
  
"This is a waste of my time and yours. I'm going home." Jack turned to walk out the door, but Mark stepped in front of him. "Don't make me hurt you, Mark," he growled.  
  
"Answer the question, Jack," Andrews said from behind him.  
  
Jack spun on his heels. "It's a book, sir!"  
  
"Answer the question."  
  
"It's a standing mail order that I have. The CIA needed me to handle an assignment before I could enjoy a honeymoon with my wife." Jack managed not to choke on the word. Wife. Dead. The words didn't fit together. "So they sent--" He hesitated. "Laura with me during a stint in Europe. We found a book store in Poland. My wife loved literature, and liked reading the stories in the original language. I had them ship books to us, and that is one of them. Can I go now?"  
  
Jack stared at Andrews as the man from whatever agency did something to the book. Resisting the urge to hit him for harming one of his wife's books, he reminded himself that spending the night in jail for assault would not get him home any quicker. And Sydney needed him.  
  
The agent laid the book back down in front of him; this time it was open. Jack about snapped something at him when he noticed the writing in the margin of the book. He recognized the style of code immediately. "Why would the KGB be sending codes in books to me?"  
  
"It was a good way to send orders to their agent."  
  
"I don't work for the KGB, Sir," Jack said as he looked at the man from the FBI. Now he knew what agency the man was with and why they were questioning him. "It's some kind of set up."  
  
"Your wife was the agent, Mr. Bristow," another FBI agent who was standing next to Jack said.  
  
He didn't even think. His fist connected with the man, sending him flying into the wall. "That's a lie, you son of a bitch!"  
  
Mark stepped in front of him. The man behind the table set a large file down next to the book he'd set down earlier. "That's not what months of investigation tell us, Agent Bristow."  
  
Jack stared at the file folder. "It's a lie."  
  
"No, Jack," Mark said, putting his hand on Jack's shoulder. "It's not."  
  
He sank down into the chair he'd spent hours in already. "You think she killed those agents. That's why you were asking me about them."  
  
"No," the FBI agent said, barely paying attention to the man that had come with him; he was now getting off the floor and trying to stop his nose from bleeding. "We don't think she killed them, Agent Bristow. We know she did."  
  
The man slid the file directly in front of Jack. With shaking hands, he opened it and read every page. Read every piece of paper that said his married life had been a lie from the first. Read the truth and felt himself slowing dying inside.  
  
***  
  
End 4/5 


	5. Part 5

***  
  
So I dove into the water  
  
And swore I believed  
  
***  
  
"You understand what this will require, Jack?"  
  
"Yes, Sir," he answered. He ignored the look of concern that his boss gave him, much as he'd been ignoring the worried calls and the anxiety on his friends' faces for the last few weeks. Even Arvin had been shocked at how "well" Jack was handling the news of Laura's death and betrayal.  
  
Jack knew that Andrews had protested when Langley requested him for this assignment. He believed that his agent was not in the right frame of mind to make this kind of decision, although he had admitted that Arvin Sloane trusted Jack and was more likely to recruit him than anyone else. When Jack had been told, he'd found Andrews' naivety to be both amusing and sad.  
  
Langley was asking him to do this because of his emotional frame of mind. They knew he wouldn't refuse them, and they knew his new apparent vulnerability would attract Sloane. Leading the former patriotic Boy Scout down the wrong path would appeal to him.  
  
"You'll be lying to everybody," Andrews reminded him.  
  
Lying was a part of deep cover. "Yes, Sir."  
  
"Jack--"  
  
He was tired of the warnings. "I'm ready. I know what the CIA requires of me. I know how I let this Agency down, but I won't fail this time, Sir."  
  
Andrews leaned back in his chair and sighed. "You've never let this agency down, Jack."  
  
"Tell that to the twenty agents who are dead because of my mistake." Jack was stunned at how steady his own voice was. He'd become a stranger, even to himself, since the FBI had interrogated him, had showed him the truth. Even Sydney didn't have the ability to make him smile now.  
  
Andrews leaned forward. "You'll need additional training, Jack, for such a deep undercover mission. You'll have to spend six months in 'solitary confinement' as the FBI 'investigates' you to hide this training."  
  
Jack thought of leaving Sydney alone with only a nanny for six months. Then he thought of his father telling him that failure was not an option, that working with the CIA would be a great chance to serve his country. He thought of that witch who'd moaned in his bed after she'd killed his friends, and he thought of his own blindness. Sydney would be okay for six months.  
  
"I understand, Sir."  
  
"You also need to start showing signs of falling apart."  
  
Andrews should know that Jack was a master at strategy. "I've already started working on that, Sir. I've been going to a bar every night after work. Sloane knows me well enough to know how out of character that is, and I'll make sure that I do it even more when I get back from my training."  
  
His boss looked at him with sad eyes before standing up. "Are you sure about this, Jack?"  
  
A voice whispered in the back of his mind that he was reacting to the stresses in his life instead of actually taking the time to think through the options, just as the CIA wanted. He ignored it. "Yes, Sir. SD-6 and the Alliance need to be handled. Arvin Sloane is a traitor who must be dealt with with speed and efficiency, Sir."  
  
Andrews held out his hand and sighed. "Good luck."  
  
"Thank you," Jack said, wondering if he was finally giving more than he could give without self-destructing.  
  
***  
  
When I tried to put my best face on  
  
You know the damn thing always fit me wrong  
  
***  
  
"Good work, Jack. I was surprised at the hesitation you showed, but you came through for us in the end."  
  
Jack nodded. "I believed he could have been a valuable asset to us. Unfortunately, he was too loyal to his current employers. Death was the only option in the end."  
  
Sloane nodded and crossed his hands in front of him. "I know it isn't easy to kill."  
  
"I'll do whatever you need me to do, Sloane. You know where my loyalties lie," he said, somehow not choking on the words. He used to think he was a bad liar, but he was finding out that he was damn good at it.  
  
"I know," Sloane said, putting a hand on Jack's shoulder. He lightly squeezed it as he said, "I've never doubted your loyalty or your friendship."  
  
Jack walked into the men's bathroom after watching Sloane walk away. Deep breaths didn't help stop the nausea attacking him, and his lunch came back up as he thought about that man he'd just killed. A good man. A loyal man. Someone he would've liked to have met in another life time.  
  
***  
  
Too bad  
  
You had nothing up your sleeve  
  
***  
  
"Devlin, I need to be on an SD-6 transport in less than two hours. I don't have time for a meeting today."  
  
"Sit down, Jack," Devlin said. It was then that Jack realized that two other men were with his boss. He had an odd feeling déjà vu as he sat down. It had been almost twenty years, but he still remembered the day his entire world had been destroyed. The sight of the file folder on the edge of the desk made him hesitate only a moment before picking it up.  
  
He couldn't totally hide his reaction to the pictures inside, but he managed to conceal most of it. "Sloane has recruited Sydney," Devlin said unnecessarily; the pictures said more than Jack wanted to hear. He had failed his daughter; he'd let that son of bitch get to her first.  
  
He tossed the file back down on the desk, never wanting to see the photos inside again.  
  
"Arvin Sloane had not informed you of this development?" one of the other men in the office said. Jack realized he was FBI.  
  
"No," he answered. Strange how the world was so upside down now. The kid who used to be a lousy liar was now so good at it that the man he was betraying on a daily basis had no suspicions of him, but the agency he had dedicated his life to doubted his loyalties.  
  
"He knows I would not have allowed it, if I'd known."  
  
The man who had spoken sighed and picked up the file folder. "I hear you are a master at strategies, Agent Bristow. Too bad you didn't have a plan up your sleeve to prevent this from happening."  
  
***  
  
I'll take the problem in my hands  
  
Till the well runs dry  
  
***  
  
Devlin would be furious with him. The entire CIA hierarchy would be angry with him. He was tossing away twenty years of his own work to save a civilian who knew nothing and could be of no use to them.  
  
He didn't give a damn.  
  
After he delivered the plane tickets in his pocket along with a few curt words of warning, he would be forced to go into hiding. Sloane would know about his betrayal within minutes of Sydney's plane arriving. He had no choice, though. He'd failed her before by leaving her vulnerable, allowing Sloane to use her. He couldn't fail her now.  
  
When Sloane had put that folder in his hands, had let him see the transcript of the phone call the idiot had made, he hadn't been sure who he wanted to strangle more--his daughter or the stupid man she'd become engaged to. But he'd known that he couldn't turn a blind eye and let SD-6 kill Daniel Hecht. He wouldn't let Sydney know how it felt to have the person she loved die. He wouldn't.  
  
The fact the door was cracked open warned him that he might have been too late. Pulling his gun from the holster, he slowly entered the apartment where Danny lived. He'd never been there before, but he doubted his daughter would become engaged to someone who left their apartment in this kind of shape; it was trashed.  
  
He opened the bathroom door and closed his eyes to the blood that staining everything. He had failed her again. Re-holstering his gun, he turned and walked away. He thought back to Sloane's comment years ago about how much the CIA asked from their employees. He thought of the dead young man who had made his daughter happy, and he sighed as he thought about how much Sydney had given today. And he wondered how much more she could give before she crumbled.  
  
***  
  
I think I'll stand up tall and be a man  
  
Till the well runs dry  
  
***  
  
Jack held his daughter as she cried. She kept telling him she was sorry, and the words cut through him more than he wanted. He had hurt her today. Hurt her to keep her from being hurt worse later, but still he had been the one to make her bleed. Her soul was aching from her loss of faith in Laura, but at least she was alive and not hurting as badly as she would've been months down the road.  
  
He'd sacrificed more today than he ever had before. Today he'd let the CIA down. Irina's "Bible" was now destroyed from the bombs he himself had arranged. He feared what the loss of the manual may mean to the agency he had pled loyalty to decades before. With it, they could have wiped out an entire organization of enemies.  
  
But at least he hadn't failed her. Failing her was not an option. He would keep on giving up parts of his soul as long as she was safe.  
  
***  
  
But every time I put my best face on  
  
I say "why?"  
  
***  
  
Jack stared at the stark white tombstone, but there were no answers there. There never had been. So why did he continue to visit every few years looking for a solution?  
  
Was he expecting his father's ghost to appear and tell him that he was proud?  
  
He felt an arm around his back, and he couldn't believe he'd allowed someone to approach without being aware of it. He smelled her perfume and realized it was his daughter. Looking down at her, he couldn't find any words to say.  
  
"I didn't even know he was buried here. You've never talked about him. Ever."  
  
"How did you find me?" he asked. When the fog had forced them to land at Santa Fe last night--on a return trip from a mission for SD-6--he'd decided to take advantage of their closeness to visit before their plane left this morning.  
  
"Sloane called earlier, and I didn't know where you were. When I talked to Vaughn, Mom had told him that you would be here." Jack felt his teeth grind together, but he didn't say anything. He didn't even admit to himself how much it bothered him that she knew him so well. It used to make him feel great that his wife knew all his faults and fears and loved him anyway.  
  
Sydney tucked her hair behind her ear and said, "Tell me about him."  
  
"He was a career military officer. He loved his country. He believed serving it was the best thing in the world, and failure was not allowed."  
  
He watched the sadness play across his daughter's face. He knew she was hearing more than he wanted her to, but what could he say about Colonel Thomas Bristow? He could lie and say that he'd been a great father, but he hadn't been and Jack didn't have the energy to fake it. And he didn't know anything else about the man to share.  
  
"How did he die? Heart attack?"  
  
Jack sucked in a breath. "No," he admitted. "He shot himself twice in the stomach."  
  
She turned to look at him, horror written in her eyes. "Suicide?"  
  
"He went in for his physical. His doctor told him that he had stomach cancer. There was nothing they could do--at least not then. His body had failed him."  
  
He saw the horror and the understanding in her eyes. Her grandfather had not been able to accept any type of failure. "I'm sorry," she finally said.  
  
Jack said nothing. What could he say?  
  
Sydney put her hand in his, and he looked down at it in surprise. "I'm glad that you're not like him," she said after a few minutes.  
  
The wind blew around them, and he wondered how she could fail to see how much like Thomas Bristow he was. Cold. Distant. Unable to connect with his child. "What makes you think I'm different?"  
  
She shrugged. "Because you never give up. You face all your failures and take your hits and keep going. The first sign of trouble doesn't make you quit."  
  
Squeezing his hand, she said, "Watching you work this past year has allowed me to see how hard you keep working for what you believe in. No matter what gets in your way."  
  
She turned to walk away, and Jack looked down at the marker. "Sydney." When she looked at him, he told her, "I'm proud of you."  
  
He saw her thinking about his hearing last week, about the words he'd said to the senator. She smiled, and he knew that she understood what he was trying to say. He'd been able to speak the words she wanted to hear there. "I know, Dad."  
  
She turned and walked away, leaving him alone. Looking down at the grave, Jack finally found the words he'd been looking for since his father had died. Maybe finding the words to say to the Senator--to say to Sydney who he knew was watching and listening--had helped him. "You were a selfish son of a bitch. I didn't deserve that phone call from a stranger. You should have called me, told me that you were sick. You should have allowed us time to say goodbye. You should have fought like you always told me to do instead of giving up. You used to say that failure wasn't an option, but you failed me."  
  
Jack looked to where Sydney was waiting for him by the car. "I've spent most of my life trying to make you proud, Father, and I'm not sure why; why I tried so hard or why you couldn't be proud of me."  
  
He thought of all the decisions he'd made in life because of his father, because of his past. He'd damn near killed his daughter in his struggle to destroy the past. He and Sydney both were paying the price for his eagerness to prove his loyalty to his country, to prove to himself that he had not let his father down after allowing Laura to use him.  
  
Why had he cared about one man's opinion so much?  
  
The grave gave him no answers. Jack turned and walked away, finally giving up those dreams that had died with Thomas Bristow. In his mind, he buried them beside his father.  
  
Now it was time to get on with the future. Time to start building with Sydney what he'd always wanted.  
  
"Good-bye, Father," he whispered as he walked away, knowing he'd never come back here. There wasn't any need to anymore.  
  
***  
  
The End!  
  
Thanks for reading!  
  
And happy belated and early b-day, Celli! You are a great person to know. I'm glad that I met you. Even if you do make me write songfic. ;) 


End file.
